The moment the curtain rises on Andonis Foniadakis’s “Glory,” you have some idea of the melodrama you’re in for: The stage is a swirl of fog.

One light, placed on the floor at the back, shoots beams upward in the graceful shape of a fan through which a lithe woman in a transparent black dress emerges. Cutting through the hazy air with sharp, commanding bursts of movement — a deep plié with a sweeping arm, lashing leans both forward and back, whipping hair — Daniela Zaghini is the work’s melodramatic queen bee. Not to say that the 19 other dancers aren’t just as busy: Mr. Foniadakis, a Greek choreographer, likes to keep his pulsating stage frantic and dense. Everything is happening; nothing is happening. It’s exhausting.

Performed by the Ballet du Grand Théâtre de Genève at the Joyce Theater on Tuesday, “Glory” makes you pine for 1969. That’s when George Balanchine became the artistic adviser to this company; the troupe, which included the American choreographer Karole Armitage, was dedicated to his repertory.

There have been other iterations since; it is now led by the ballet director Philippe Cohen. And while it’s true that dance companies can’t exist as museums, another question persists, as it often does in contemporary ballet: What is the point of “Glory”? Set to a mishmash of Handel’s choral and instrumental works — with music arrangement and additional electronic sound design by Julien Tarride — “Glory” is more soul-sapping than uplifting.

The dancers, a bit cramped on the Joyce stage, are a comely group despite their seemingly twofold mission: to move at breakneck speed while trying to accent the music with writhing arms and ferocious side kicks. Poor Handel. They pass through the stage as if they’re on a conveyor belt. Vladimir Ippolitov is a blur as he pops into the air with an extreme twist of the torso and later ends up on the floor in a push-up, only to spring back up again. A swift series of duets follows in which acrobatic lifts, rolls to the floor and yet more leg kicks maintain only a superficial impression of the music.

Still, there is the daring and free-spirited Ms. Zaghini, who manages to infuse the most hectic movement with a jazzy syncopation. She has a dramatic duet with her skirt; attached to nine rods operated by dancers, the costume engulfs her in its silky parachute folds. It’s just a gimmick, though many of Tassos Sofroniou’s costume designs are captivating, especially his exquisitely cut leotards. He manages to reveal how fabric enhances movement and vice versa.

But neither the dancers nor the costumes are the problem in this meandering work. In “Glory,” Mr. Foniadakis is more obsessed with the shapes bodies make — the moods alternate between dartingly playful and feverish — than their response to music.

Why Handel? It’s never clear. Just before the end, the dancers change into softer, more contemporary clothes and perform a jarring dance to the “Hallelujah” chorus. Between the robust movement and light radiating toward the top of the stage, it feels like a tepid cliché. “Glory” has no majesty.